The smile was still on Alaric's lips when the forest changed. He hastily stood. The soldiers who were resting in their tents stumbled out, swords drawn from their sheaths.
For a moment, there was only silence. Even the cicadas' song stilled, and the owls stopped hooting.
Then another growl.
It was subtle at first—a break in the rhythm of the night. The wind drew in, and somewhere beyond the fire's reach, branches bent under a weight that moved carefully, too carefully.
Lara's head lifted.
From the far side of camp came a low, rolling growl.
It was followed by another, deeper and more resonant, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet. The sound belonged to them.
"Gray. Snow." Lara's voice was calm, but her eyes had sharpened.
